Frog
by aaquater
Summary: We all know how Harry's first Quidditch match went - nearly swallowing the Snitch and all - but we only heard about it from Harry's own point of view. What was the other Seeker thinking when he saw that hands weren't the only body parts you can catch the Snitch in? Here's the match in Terrence Higgs' point of view.


_I got the idea for this one-shot while I was having my hair cut, so I hope you won't find it very hair-brained. :)_

_Last time I checked, I should be studying for a Physics exam instead of writing FanFiction right now. Is this enough proof that I don't own Harry Potter?_

_I own Miles' toast, though._

* * *

When Miles Bletchley said that he had a feeling this match would be one we'd remember, I didn't believe him. I mean; how much of a change could a firstie do? Especially Potter, who had lived with Muggles, which meant he had absolutely no experience, and he'd only got on the team because he'd tried to commit suicide by diving during a Flying lesson and failed? No chance. ('Though, if he slams into a goalpost and knocks himself out, that would be something to remember for sure,' I thought.)

A huge one, it turned out. But I'm skipping things.

Back in the locker room, Marcus Flint told us, "Remember what we've trained. Don't let them rule the game at any cost; don't let them combine."

"We know, Marcus," Adrian Pucey groaned, rolling his eyes. "You say it _every time_. D'you think we're thick?"

"Well..." Marcus trailed off, sneaking a not-so-secret look at the two Beaters, Derrick and Bole.

I stifled a laugh. Yeah, those two weren't exactly the sharpest matches in the box, and sometimes, I even wondered why they were in the team at all, but you don't need to think that much when you're a Beater, and commands like 'Hit the black balls at everything that's not green' were simple enough for even Derrick and Bole to understand. And, to be frank, I thought Marcus didn't really _want_ his team members to think, just to follow his orders; he was a bit like a politician in that.

"Just making sure. Let's show that _Wood_ that you don't play Quidditch in surgical gloves," Marcus said.

At exactly eleven o'clock, we were all lined up next to Madam Hooch, the Referee, facing the Gryffindor team. I was struck by how small they were compared to us, maybe with the exception of their Keeper and Captain, Wood. I felt like even the smallest of hits would send any of them flying off the broom, especially Potter, who looked like his jersey and broom together weighed twice more than he did.

'Well, this is going to be interesting,' I thought, amused.

Up in the stands, I noticed several Gryffindors with a... Was that a bed sheet they were waving in the air?! Anyway, there was a lion that changed colours like a kaleidoscope drawn on the... whatever it was, with the words 'Potter for President' above.

I snorted. 'For President? I didn't know there are going to be elections at Hogwarts.'

"Now, I want a nice, fair game, all of you," Madam Hooch said, glaring specifically at Marcus, Derrick and Bole.

'Go judge a beauty contest, then,' Graham Montague muttered to me. I had to do my best not to burst out laughing.

With her broom in one hand, Madam Hooch released the Bludgers and the Snitch and told us to mount our brooms, which we did. Would've been kind of hard to play Quidditch while holding on with my hands, wouldn't it? ...and I'm getting sidetracked.

Madam Hooch mounted her broom, too, and with the whistle between her teeth, she threw the Quaffle high up in the air. The game had begun.

The Gryffindors had the Quaffle at the beginning. As a Seeker, I tried not to get too caught up in watching the Chasers, but I saw that for the first few minutes, the game was all about stopped attacks and counter-attacks. None of the Chasers was able to get close enough to the opposite Keeper to shoot. Frustrating to the Chasers though it was, at least the crowd was enjoying the sight.

Once, I heard the commentary try to hit on one of the Gryffindor Chasers and I laughed to myself. 'You might think you're funny, Jordan, but all you're doing is distracting the girl,' I thought, judging by my girlfriend, who I knew would only get flustered if I complimented her in public.

Unfortunately, the same girl Jordan had hit on, scored when Miles mistimed his dive and she lobbed the Quaffle above his hands.

"Come on, Miles; are you asleep or what?" I heard Marcus shout at the Keeper angrily.

"Me? Tell those two thugs not to leave her all alone with the Quaffle," Miles yelled back.

When Gryffindor scored, I saw Potter perform a pirouette in happiness. 'What a show-off,' I thought, rolling my eyes and returning to flying around the pitch in search for the Snitch.

At one moment, I thought I saw two Snitches at once – well, I saw two flashes of gold, at least. But when I chose one of them and sped in that direction, a Bludger sent by one of the Weasley twins stopped me. I didn't exactly fancy obtaining a Bludger-shaped dent in my head, so I had to change directions, which in turn led to me losing track of the Snitch.

Searching again, I noticed Adrian behaving quite strangely. He had the Quaffle in his firm grip, but he was speeding away from the Gryffindor goalposts, instead of attacking them. I frowned; what was he doing? Diversionary tactics were one thing, but this looked like he had forgotten he had the Quaffle; he was totally focused on something in front of him. I sighed; I knew Adrian had been leading a mini-war against wasps since one had stung him last May, but if he had decided to chase insects around in the middle of a game, I would have to have a word with him.

"...Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds towards the – wait a moment – was that the Snitch?" Jordan was commenting.

When I registered what he'd said, I hurried towards Adrian, as did Potter. Side by side, we sped, only to see Adrian drop the Quaffle in an attempt to catch the Snitch – unsuccessfully, I might add. By that time, I could see the little golden ball so, cursing Adrian for his foolishness in my head, Potter and I began the chase.

Potter's broom was faster than mine, I have to admit that. We were both close to the Snitch, reaching for it, and Potter was just about to grab it in his hand and end the game, when Marcus came to help us, like a Captain should. He slammed into Potter (and me, too, for that matter), making us both veer off course and Potter almost fall off his broom. Admittedly, Madam Hooch gave Gryffindor a penalty for that, which they scored from, but better be ten points down than lose the match, I say.

Of course, three quarters of the school had a different opinion, as we had to suffer through a fair amount of booing after Marcus' foul on Potter, but I was used to it. To be honest, I had long since stopped caring what the others thought of me. If they can't see past the snake crest on my robes, then they aren't worth talking to – at least, that's what my mum always told me, and I think it's true.

The game had begun again after the penalty. I'd lost track of the Snitch, so Potter and I flew to opposite sides of the pitch, zigzagging through the air, trying to find the little winged speck of gold.

I saw a flash again, but when I flew there, I found out why there had been a time when I saw two Snitches. The flash was nothing more or less than a reflection from a wristwatch on one of the Gryffindor Beaters' forearm.

Honestly, if I was a Beater, I'd hit a Bludger at Weasley's head for that. For Merlin's sake, who wears golden wristwatches during a game of Quidditch?! 'Weasley's another one I'm going to have a word with after the match,' I thought.

I was so angry that I got tricked by a reflection, I didn't notice Graham approaching until he slammed into me.

"Terrence, watch, where you're going," Graham yelled at me furiously.

"And Higgs and Montague from Slytherin flew into each other," Jordan said. "Seems like they aren't very happy about that, especially since it caused Montague to lose the Bludger, which is currently in possession of Bell."

"'Not very happy about that?' No, really?" I scoffed silently, watching Bell's failed attempt at scoring. From the counter-attack, Marcus scored, changing the score to ten – twenty, and I allowed myself a little whoop before continuing.

When I was passing by the Slytherin goalposts, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Potter showing off on his broom once again. I shook my head at the amateur attitude of the firstie towards the sport.

After thirty seconds or so, Adrian flew to me. "Look at what Potter's doing," he called, pointing to the other side of the pitch.

Potter was still performing his loops, but now, the Beaters were circling underneath him, and the other Gryffindors were coming there, too. I couldn't see it very well from afar, but it looked like Potter had lost control of the broom and the two Beaters were trying to catch him.

"Looks like the broom's had enough of him," I said, curious about what could've made the broom act like that. It was almost like it was cursed. "Hey, where's Marcus?"

"Making the most of the situation," Adrian snickered. And sure; Marcus had the Quaffle in his possession and he was using the fact that Wood had left his position in front of the goalposts. He was scoring one goal after another.

"So will I, then," I said, speeding off, hoping to spot and catch the Snitch while the other Seeker was temporarily indisposed.

It might seem a bit unfair, and to be honest, I was kind of worried about Potter, if it was really a curse that had made his broom twitch – and if it wasn't a curse, I didn't know what it could've been – but what Marcus and I did wasn't against the rules. Plus, it was Wood's fault; he should've called a time-out until the broom issue would be dealt with. But as he didn't, the game was continuing.

I sneaked a glance at Potter again, and immediately afterwards, I wished I didn't. The broom had successfully thrown Potter off by then, and the Gryffindor Seeker was only holding on by one hand. After a while, he caught the handle with the other hand, too, but still, it wasn't a position one would pay to be in.

I was certain now that somebody was cursing the broom, though; whenever one of Potter's teammates tried to pull him on their broom, Potter's Nimbus would jerk away from them.

It was lucky I didn't have any binoculars on me. I had half a mind to start scanning the crowd for a possible anti-Gryffindor fan who'd gone overboard, but I didn't suppose Marcus would be happy with me if I failed to catch the Snitch because of _empathy towards the Gryffindor Seeker_. I was surprised Madam Hooch wasn't doing anything, though.

Still searching, when I was passing the teachers' stands, I thought I saw something like blue flames under the seats, similar to the ones we use at Potions. When I turned my head to look again, they were gone, though. 'Must be a trick of light or something,' I thought, shaking my head.

After another minute, Potter was finally able to climb back on his broom. Immediately afterwards, he sped to the ground, but it didn't look like he'd spotted the Snitch. He had one hand pressed to his mouth, so I guessed he felt really sick and needed to calm down a little.

I didn't blame him. Of course, I had no idea how much he'd eaten at breakfast, but spinning around like that would've made anyone feel sick and dizzy. It also meant I only had a few more seconds of advantage, though, and I still hadn't spotted the Snitch, so I began to search more frantically.

As I suspected, once on the ground, Potter dismounted his broom and started coughing. I quickly turned my attention away; there were a million other things I'd like to watch more than people being sick.

Suddenly, the sound of Madam Hooch's whistle cut through the air. For a while, everything went silent, and then a huge wave of cheering erupted from the stands.

"What's going on?" I yelled to Miles, who was closest to me.

"No idea. Maybe it's just- _No. Way._" Miles' eyes widened as he was gaping at something down on the pitch.

When I turned around and looked there, too, I nearly fell off my broom in shock. Potter was standing on his feet now and he was waving his fist in the air – fist, _in which he was clutching the Snitch!_ How in Merlin's name did that happen?!

Other Gryffindors were dismounting their brooms, too, and they were congratulating Potter. The Gryffindor Seeker, for that matter, looked like he could hardly believe what had just happened – and so did I. A firstie had just shown me up, and on his first game, too! That's what I call a real kick in the ego.

"Gryffindor won! The final score is one hundred and seventy to sixty," Jordan was yelling into the megaphone.

Meanwhile, my team members and I landed. Needless to say, all of us were pretty angry; we hadn't been expecting anything but a clear win, and we lost by more than a hundred points.

"How did Potter catch that Snitch, did anyone see?" I asked, because I still couldn't work out how it had just appeared in his hand.

"He almost ate it, and then he coughed it out," Derrick grunted.

My jaw fell down in disbelief. "You mean that when I saw him about to be sick, he was choking on the Snitch?"

"Yes," Marcus growled, kicking a clump of grass in anger.

"Wait a minute, guys," Adrian said suddenly. "Could he even... Isn't that against the rules? He didn't exactly _catch_ it."

Marcus' eyes lit up. "It definitely isn't. I'm going to talk to Madam Hooch," he announced. "She can't count it as a catch when it wasn't!"

Marcus then ran to talk to the referee. The six of us stayed there, still gazing at the happily embracing Gryffindor team.

"I can just imagine what your girlfriend will say about this," Graham said, shaking his head.

"Yeah," I snorted, picturing her standing in front of me with crossed arms in my mind. "'Did I see that right, Terrence? You lost to a guy who nearly swallowed the Snitch instead of catching it?'" I imitated her, suddenly very glad she couldn't hear me, as my imitation was horrible. "She'd say they should transfer me to the Frog Quidditch league."

"Heh, frogs can't play Quidditch," Bole laughed stupidly.

Miles, Adrian, Graham and I exchanged looks. No words were necessary; I knew all of us were asking ourselves the same thing. 'Why do we still keep them here?'

"Hey," Miles said suddenly, "Potter's eyes kind of look like pickled frogs... or better, toads, don't they?"

Now, it was just Graham, Adrian and I, who looked at each other.

"Um, Miles," I said carefully. "Are you really sure eating that weird toast at breakfast was a good idea?"

* * *

_If you're reading this, it means you got through my story in one piece. Thanks for that. Let me know what you thought. :)_


End file.
